


The Chilling Realities Of Hunting And Being Hunted

by Buckets_Of_Stars



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man - All Media Types, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Anxiety, Arc Reactor, Attempted Kidnapping, Attempted Murder, BAMF Peter Parker, BAMF Tony Stark, Blizzards, Blood, Broken Bones, Car Issues, Complete, Father-Son Relationship, Gen, Hurt Peter Parker, Hurt Tony Stark, Hypothermia, Mama Bear Tony Stark, Old Radios, Panic Attacks, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Peter Stark - Freeform, Platonic Cuddling, Precious Peter Parker, Protective Peter Parker, Protective Tony Stark, Snowstorms, Stabbing, Stalking, Tire Slashing, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark Still Has Arc Reactor, cabin in the woods, cuddling for warmth, dad tony, son peter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-02
Updated: 2019-06-18
Packaged: 2019-06-20 09:29:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15531294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Buckets_Of_Stars/pseuds/Buckets_Of_Stars
Summary: All Peter and Tony had to do was cross the mountains. That’s it. Just climb a few hills and get to the Convention. They didn’t count on the snow, or the wind, or the fact that neither of them have service.And they definitely didn’t count on the fact that they would be hunted—stalked--as they sit, freezing and shaking, on the side of the road.





	1. Scared And Stranded

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys! I hope you enjoy this new story whooooo!:D
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own Spider-Man or any related materials.

* * *

They have been in the car for about 5 hours, and Peter is starting to get _very_ bored.

  
He tries not to let it show though, alternating between playing games on his phone and staring out the fogged window at the bare and dead trees around them. Tony sits in the drivers seat next to him, nodding along to the radio and tapping his fingers against the steering wheel when a particular part of the song hits.

  
The man glances over once the radio goes quiet for a minute, eyeing his son with an amused smirk. The clouds above them casts his face in a milky shadow, his teeth glowing in the semi-darkness.

  
“Having fun there, kiddo?” He asks, adjusting his grip on the wheel as the tires crunch over some frozen dirt.

  
Peter’s head snaps over toward Tony from where he was watching the clouds roll in outside, his doe eyes widening as he nods almost frantically. “Yeah, yeah Dad, lots of fun, yep.”

  
The genius chuckles, reaching over to ruffle his kid’s hair. Peter half-heartedly pushes his hand away, a small pout pushing his bottom lip out. Leaning back more fully against the seat, the spiderling rests his chin against his palm, letting out a small sigh.

  
“Don’t worry, bud.” Tony says once his laughter dies off. “We just have to cross through the mountains and then we will be at the Convention, I promise.”

  
“Why did we just take the plane? That would have been so much faster.”

  
Tony rolls his eyes, flicking on his windshield wipers as small droplets of rain start to hit the car. “What’s the fun in that? I though you liked hanging out with me, Pete.”

  
Peter just scoffs, reaching up and draws squiggles against the fog of the window with his finger, the condensation making his skin wet. “Why would you ever think that, Dad? I mean, it’s not like I spent a _week packing_ because I wanted to hang out with you or anything.”

  
Tony laughs again. “Why did you come then, kiddo? It wasn’t for these amazing views right?”

  
Peter looks out the window, squinting to see the flash of brown and yellow of dead grass and trees as they zoom by. “Nope, it was for the promise of free food.”

  
Both chuckle at that, the atmosphere lighthearted and warm even as the chill of outside pounds against the car, the rain mixing with the cold and turning into the thin sleet. After letting his Dad run his fingers through his hair, the teen turns back toward the window, letting the lull of the car’s movements and he steady thump of his father’s heartbeat, barely detectable above the pounding of the storm outside.

  
Without meaning too, Peter lets his eyes slip shut, falling asleep just as the first snowflakes of the year get trapped against the chilled metal surrounding them.

 

* * *

 

The sudden jolt of the car stopping is what wakes the boy a few hours later.

  
He sits up, rubbing one fist over his dry eyes, watching as Tony starts to reach toward him.

  
“Hey bud, we’re just going to get some dinner real quick. Do you want to stay out here or come inside with me?”

  
Peter wipes away the mist from the window, looking out into the outside as the bright neon light next to the car blinks on and off. They are parked in front of a small gas station, the building appearing to be the only structure in a few hundred miles, the rest of the world dark and drenched in a now steady stream of powder. A few cars sit around them, blowing steam into the air.

  
“I’ll come with you.” Peter answers, unbuckling and opening his door.

  
The blast of cold wind makes his eyes water, his hair becoming damp with small droplets of quickly meting snow. Zipping up his jacket with twitching fingers, the teen follows his Dad up the curb, careful of the ice underfoot. The door make a small ringing sound as the man opens it, the warm air wrapping around Peter as they step inside.

  
“Stay close to me, okay?” Tony whispers, dragging his son closer to his side as he surveys the area with sharp eyes.

  
Peter has to physically hold back an eye roll at his father’s protectiveness, choose to not argue. Both Starks make their way over to the back counter, Peter looking around the brightly lit interior with a sleepy gaze.

  
They order their food, the cashier—Gary, by his name tag—not even looking surprised by the random appearance of Tony Stark to his store. His old face is sagging, his eyes haunted as they look down at Peter. The boy shudders, turning away and instead picking out a candy bar and setting it on the counter.

  
They pay, the man giving a muffled grumble when Tony hands him a $50, his old hands shaking as he rings them up.

  
“Thanks.” The billionaire says once the cashier hands them the bag, handing it to Peter and sets one protective hand on the boy’s back. “Have a nice night.”

  
Peter gives a small wave, his insides twisting as Gary stares after them with blank green eyes. Both father and son are just at the door when the man speaks, his voice raspy and ridden with elderly tremors.

  
“You be careful out there, Stark. Most people who go up those mountains this time of year—well, the never make it down.”

  
Tony opens his mouth to report back, turning around with his eyes blazing, but Gary is already gone, the back door swinging slowly on its hinges, the squeaking carrying across the eerily silent store.

  
Tire tracks litter the ground when they walk back out, some deep and the color of tar as the snow continues to pile up.

  
Peter feels a chill travel up his spine that has nothing to do with the cold surrounding them. His grip on his father tightens, and he almost doesn’t let go to get back into the car. Once in, however, the boy buckles with shaking fingers, jumping as Tony slams his door shut and backs out of the lot, the whole place empty now save for a beat up truck in the corner.

  
The tires slide in the snow as they turn back onto the main road, the headlights illuminating the snowflakes as they hit against the windshield.

  
Peter opens his candy bar, biting the chocolate and letting it melt against his tongue, the normally sweet flavor falling bitter as the cashier’s eyes turn over in his mind. The boy sets the bar down after a few more bites, stomach rolling.

  
“That guy—“ Tony says after a couple of seconds of silence, pressing the break lightly as they turn a corner. “—in the store, he was old. He probably couldn’t even remember his own name if he wasn’t wearing that tag of his.”

  
Peter lets out a small, half-hearted laugh, his stomach still churning even as the lights of the store fad away into the blackness. “Y-yeah, no doubt about that.”

  
His dad looks over at him, face set in a stare of seriousness, his eyes reflecting the shine of the headlights. “You know, buddy, that I would never let anything happen to you, right?”

  
“I know, trust me, Dad.” Peter swallows, lifting his collar up higher against his neck as his body shudders. “I know.”

  
The billionaire studies his face for a second longer, dark gaze roaming over his son’s pale features. Finally, the man turns away, reaching over to ruffle Peter’s hair, eyes squinting against the powder as the snow howls outside.

 

* * *

 

They drive for about thirty more minutes before the car comes to a sudden and jolting halt.

  
Tony lets out a muffled curse as he continues to press the gas, the sound of the tires squishing against the wet mush causing the hair to stand up on the back of Peter’s neck. With shaking fingers, he reaches over, hanging onto his Dad’s coat sleeve.

  
“What’s wrong?” He asks, his voice high, like a frightened little boy. “Why did we stop?”

  
Tony sighs harshly, gripping his son’s hand with his own as his other runs through his hair. “We must be stuck. I’m going to go see if I can pull us out.”

  
“I’ll come too, see if I can help—“

  
Panic grips Tony’s heart, stabbing through his chest and forcing his grip to tighten against his boy’s fingers. “ _No_. No, kiddie, you stay here okay? Keep the car warm for me and all that.”

  
The man releases his son’s hand with a twinge of regret, ignoring the way Peter’s scared complaints tear at his insides. Sparing one last quick glance at his shaking child, Tony hops out of the car, pushing against the door when it gets stuck into the rising snow.

  
Finally, he makes it out, the world pitch black and as cold as a freezer.

  
The woods around them are completely silent, no birds chirping or movement to disrupt the haunting stillness. Feeling the first rise of panic threaten to choke him, the superhero actives his gauntlet, letting the familiar blue glow illuminate the area around them. He walks around the car, his footsteps crunching against the snow and his breath fogging in the limited light.

  
As he moves, the man flashes the light around him and begins to wonder if it would be a good idea to try and get the shovel out of the trunk. He had just made it over to the passenger side of the car, Peter’s frightened face peering out at him, when he notices the hole in the tire.

  
Shaking his head in almost hysterical disbelief, the man circles around again, stopping only once to flash his son a reassuring smile when the boy reaches out toward him.

  
The billionaire, after checking again and again and again, sees something that strikes fear into his very core, his chest halting as the cold air stalls in his lungs.

  
All four tires are slashed.

  
And a trail of footprints, staggering away from the car and already getting covered by fresh snow, leads into the pitch black woods beyond.

 


	2. Snow And Ice (Makes Everything Not So Nice)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you guys enjoy Chapter 2!:D
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own Spider-Man or any related materials.

* * *

 

No matter how much Tony wants to get the _hell_ away from those footprints, he knows that he can’t, at least not right now.

  
When he finally staggers back into the car, finally gets his racing heart and heavy breathing under a little bit of control, Peter is sheet white, his small hands immediately reaching out and squeezing Tony’s shirt sleeve so hard the fabric nearly rips in half.

  
“D-Dad?” His voice is shaking, shuddering in a way Tony never wants to hear. “What’s wrong? Can we move at all?”

  
The Billionaire takes a deep breath, slapping on a reassuring smile even as his ears strain for a hint of movement from outside, his own hands, gauntlet extinguished but not put away, shaking as he lifts up the middle consul. He tugs his son against his side, as much to comfort the boy as to protect him against a sudden attack from whoever—or whatever—is lurking deep in the surrounding darkness.

  
“Not exactly, kiddo.” Tony says softly, reaching up to run his fingers through his child’s hair, the curls slightly damp. “We might be here for a while.”

  
Peter is quiet for a few minutes, his thin frame shuddering a few times under his father’s hold as the man adjusts the Heater. His grip tightens a little as the storm kicks up around them, shaking the frame of the car and throwing up bellows of snow.

  
“What did you see, Dad?”

  
The question is so quiet, whispered in a way that Tony isn’t sure if his son even spoke, the only indication being the way Peter glances up at him through the blue tinged darkness, his eyes bright with barely held back fear.

  
“Dad?” The boy repeats when all Tony does is close his eyes, the hand that was running down Peter’s back raising up and squeezing the bridge of his nose. “Wh—“

  
The genius cuts him off, his tone desperately grasping at an even mixture of faux reassurance and all too real frustration. “Nothing Peter, okay? Just some ice, it stuck to the wheels and now we can’t move.”

  
Suddenly his son sits up, his eyes blazing a fierce panicked anger. “Don’t-don’t lie to me, I’m not a little kid anymore!”

  
Tony grits his teeth, hooking his fingers onto Peter’s arms and forcing the boy still when he attempts to scoot back. “P-Peter—stay still, okay? Just-just _stop_ please—“

  
“ _No!_ Not until you tell me what’s really going on.” The teen’s voice catches on a sob, his body suddenly sagging against Tony’s. “Please Dad, please don’t leave me in the dark.”

  
Tony feels his own cry travel up his throat and he swallows down acidic bile. His eyes, however, continue to shift around them, straining to catch a glimpse of the washed out world beyond the fogged windows.

  
“The—“ Pausing to clear his throat, the billionaire continues, his voice raspy with dread. “—the tires were slashed. All four of them.”

  
Peter gasps from under him, his shaking increasing slightly as he seems to fight to keep his breathing even. “M-maybe we just ran over something, I mean, with this storm—“

  
Tony hates himself when he has to cut his son off, has to tear the last shred of hope from under the boy. “No, no buddy. That wasn’t all I saw. . . “

  
The man can’t continue, can’t force the reality of what is outside because when he does, when he speaks of the horror he can feel building up in his chest, it becomes _real_.

  
Shared between them. Passed like a flame between two candles. One spark of fear and panic to ignite a roar of flames, a heat wave of terror and hysteria.

  
But he _must_.

  
“There was also footprints, Peter. Leading from the car into the woods. A person—they did this to us.”

  
There is no loud gasp of shock. No cry of panic or sob of fear and desperation. Nothing. Peter is completely silent, the only indication of him even hearing his father’s words being the hitch in his breathing and the grip of his hands tightening.

  
“They’re out there right now.” It isn’t a question.

  
It’s a whispered accusation, a solid statement said in a hoarse voice of harsh fact and bruising realities.

  
Tony swallows and his hands shake as they wrap around his son, tightening with each pulsing beat of his worn down and aching heart. “Yes. How can you tell?”

  
When the billionaire looks down at Peter, the teenager isn’t squeezing his eyes shut like Tony assumed he was, isn’t burying his face into his father’s chest or nuzzling against the Arc Reactor. He stares straight at the window, his eyes wide with fear, dark pupils reflecting the blue glow below his chin.

  
His gaze is focused, brows furrowed, hands shaking as they grasp Tony tighter and tighter, fingers digging into the man’s skin like the claws of a frightened animal.

  
“Because I can _feel_ them. Their heartbeat—“ The boy pauses, breath hitching. “—it’s loud, steady. Like a-a drum. _Thump-Thump. Thump-Thump_. Over and over again.”

  
Tony feels the chill travel up his spine, his whole world closing in around him as the wind howls outside, rattling the car. Snow continues to rise, encasing the interior in a growing darkness. He reaches over to turn off the headlights before speaking.

  
“Do you know where it’s coming from, Pete?”

  
But instead of responding, all his son does is raise one trembling hand, finger pointed to the almost hidden world outside. Tony immediately flips around, pushing up his now glowing hand as he practically flings his entire body to cover Peter, a snarl rumbling his chest.

  
But all he can see is the dreary whiteness of the snow and the faint outline of the dead trees beyond.

 

* * *

 

“Do we have to turn the car off again?”

  
Peter’s voice is so small now, so low and dragged out that Tony almost doesn’t hear him. The man lets out a harsh sigh, reaching his arm from around his kid and quickly turns the key, the interior lights clicking off and plunging father and son into static darkness once more.

  
“We have too, kiddie.” The genius says once he sits back against the leather seat, dragging Peter back against his chest. “Need to save as much energy as possible.”

  
Peter doesn’t respond, just let’s put a small puff of air, cuddling even closer to the man as his father sets his watch for another thirty minutes.

  
Another thirty, brutal, cold minutes.

  
The time ticking by so slowly Tony thinks he is going to straight out scream, pound his fists against the now completely snow covered windows until his fingers break and his knuckles are slick with warm blood.

  
But he doesn’t. He _can’t_ loose control right now.

  
Not when Peter’s shivers are increasing and his moments of haunting silence are becoming longer.

  
He can’t take that risk.

 

* * *

 

The next three hours pass with only two temperatures. Only two ways to think.

  
A feverish heat, blowing out of the air conditioning ducts as the car engine rumbles below the few feet of snow stacked on top of it. The ice covering the windows start to melt, exposing a hazy image of the outside. Both Tony and Peter take turns sitting in front of the vents, letting the warm air sooth their aching and tired bodies, glancing out the window and straining to see the dark trees rising high above the white landscape.

  
Straining to see the allusive source of their never dwindling terror.

  
Suddenly a beep from Tony’s watch shatters the thick silence and it’s back to the cold. The pure chill that seems to freeze the world and their bones, push against their skin till it’s buried deep in the cracks, freezing the blood running through their veins.

  
Peter seems to feel it the most, his small body shudder and shivering against Tony’s chest every couple of seconds. The man tries to warm him up, to gather his own body heat and pass it along to his son, but nothing seems to work, not even the heavy winter jackets he grabbed from their luggage, a pale green hat sitting a top his son’s erratic curls.

  
And every single jolt of his child’s body against his own, every visible, misty breath the boy exhales, jabs through Tony’s chest and freezes along with his own air.

 

* * *

 

The next time Tony turns the key, the car stalls.

  
The man tries again and again, pushing the metal into the slot and lets out a curse as the engine stutters. Peter blinks up at him as he finally falls back against the seat, his nose ice cold as it gets pushed against his father’s neck.

  
“What’s w-wrong?” The boy asks in-between shivers, clutching Tony with stiff fingers.

  
The genius pauses before answering, wrapping his arms around his boy and presses a slightly numb kiss to the crown of his head. “The car won’t start, kiddo. I would go see what’s wrong but—“

  
“You d-don’t want to leave me here.” Peter says, voice small and raspy. “I know.”

  
Tony huffs out a small laugh, his breath floating in the dark air around them. “You know me too well, buddy. C’mom, scoot closer, it’s gonna start to get a whole lot colder.”

  
After making sure that Peter is as warm as possible, Tony begins to plan for a way to check on the engine, quickly eliminating all opinions that involve him leaving his son in the car alone.

  
So that only leaves one choice.

  
Letting out a harsh sign, the billionaire tucks his kid closer to his chest with one hand, the other running through the boy’s soft and cold locks when he squirms. Tilting Peter’s face upwards, Tony cups his chin, running his thumb across his cheek when the spiderling leans into the touch.

  
“Listen to me, Pete.” He whispers, watching as his son blinks, eyes wide and slightly glazed in the pale blue light from the Reactor. “We’ve got to go check on the car, okay?”

  
Peter tries to sit up, slumping against his Dad’s chest when his arms shake from the exertion. “W-we?”

  
Tony swallows down his fear, pushing his boy further against his chest. “Yeah, me and you bud. You always like helping your old man out right?”

  
Peter hesitated before nodding, snuggling up closer to the man and hangs on like a spider monkey. Tony cups his face, pressing his lips against his son’s forehead only once before he starts to push the door open, the metal creaking as it cuts through the snow layered on top of it.

  
Finally, both Starks make it out, the world still as dark as tar and deadly silent. Tony’s footsteps crunch in the fresh snow, Peter tucked against his chest with his legs around his father’s waist. His doe eyes are wide as he glances around them, grip tightening at every false movement his mind decides to make up at the moment.

  
Tony makes soft shushing sounds used his breath as he walks to the hood, gripping the metal with his gauntlet covered hand and pushing up with all of his strength. It take a couple of tries but finally the latch gives, flying upwards with a low groan and exposing the ice covered engine within.

  
“See anything we can fix, kiddo?” Tony asks as he shines his light into the hood, adjusting his son against his chest as the boy looks down. “I’ll see if we have anything we can use in the trunk in a minute.”

  
Peter just studies the engine, his cheeks a dark shade of red and his peaked nose leaking snot onto his black coat. Tony reaches down to wipe away the liquid with the edge of his sleeve, smoothing down the visible strands of hair peaking out from under Peter’s hat after a second.

  
“Well,” The spiderling says, throat crackling like newspaper. “I think we could—“

  
Suddenly, he cuts himself off, tensing up and his head snaps to the side, eyes wide and bright with a panicked sort of terror that makes Tony feel sick.

  
“What’s wrong?” The billionaire asks, curling his body around his son and holds up his gauntlet, the pale light casting long shadows against the white ground. “Peter?”

  
The boy claws at his father, breath coming in pants as his nostrils flare. The air around them grows foggy from their combined, harsh breathing, settling the back drop of dead trees in a misty and ice cold haze.

  
“What’s w—“

  
His kid cuts him off, voice strained and high in terror. “They—they’re _there_. Dad, they’re right there.”

  
Tony stares at the spot his son shakily points too, squints his eyes and raises his hand up higher, taking a step backwards and positions his body so Peter is behind him.

  
He stares until he finally sees.

  
A lone shadow, somehow darker than the rest of the surrounding trees, stands around 5 yards from them. It seems to stare at them through the night, teetering on the edge of the woods, looking larger by the second.

  
Peter sucks in a sharp gasp, seeming to choke on the air as he squirms, curling further against his father as his body shakes. Tony barely has time to open his mouth, to even make a sound before the thing—the person takes a step forward, their foot crunching in the snow.

  
And Tony doesn’t stop to think, to do anything but wrap his free arm around his child, turn around so fast the white world spins after him, and _sprints_ in the opposite direction.

  
He doesn’t realize his mistake until it’s too late.


	3. All The Trees Are Dead (Just Like Our Hope)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm honestly not happy with this chapter, but I hope you guys enjoy anyway!:)
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own Spider-Man or any related materials.
> 
> This is dedicated to all the people who lost their lives in the brutal attacks on the United States of America exactly 17 years ago today. 9/11: We Will Never Forget.

* * *

 

The snow is soft under Tony’s feet, twinkling powder that muffles his steps as he huffs.

 

His breath wraps around both him and Peter, his child’s pale face peaking out from under Tony’s chin, glowing in the bare light of the moon. All around them the woods are silent and still, dead trees, snow hanging off their branches like chilling white scarves, stand tall and allusive against the backdrop of darkness. 

 

“C-can you h-hear him, Pete?” He asks his son for the millionth time, voice shaking despite his best efforts to keep it steady. “Is-is he still behind us?”

 

But Peter shakes his head, shivers racking his body and Tony feels a hot flash of guilt cut through the chill gripping his bones. Lifting the boy higher into his arms, the genius presses a cold kiss against his forehead, feeling the reassuring puffs of his son’s exhales against his cheeks. Pushing Peter’s hat further down his head, Tony smiles softly, twisting an ice layered curl between his numb fingers. 

 

He stalls suddenly, blinking away sudden stinging tears of panic and desperation, and turns his attention back to slowly continuing to climb the steepening hill. 

 

He is angry.

 

So _fucking_ angry at himself. How could he ever be so stupid, so careless to _run away from the car._ The only thing that was keeping him and Peter relatively warm and safe. The only thing keeping his son from fucking freezing to death. Now here they are, stumbling through the woods, guided only by the patchy spots of silver moonlight and the glow of the Arc Reactor. 

 

Tony can’t stop himself from looking around, his head and eyes snapping to the side, the tree’s surrounding them turning taller and more sinister every second, towering above the shivering father and son as they move. Looking behind them every couple of seconds, heart skipping a beat when his gaze finds the darkness between the faded light, the genius half expects to see the figure appear and snatch them up.

 

But it never does. 

 

So they walk. And walk. And walk and walk and walk. Tony walks so far his legs grow stiff and his tracks travel back, sinking deeper so that he can’t see the end. Peter grips him all through the movement, his eyes blinking lazily as his body slowly grows colder under Tony’s touch. 

 

They _need_ to find shelter. Soon. 

 

“Dad?” Peter’s voice floats up, drifting on the stale wind as it blows across their faces. 

 

Tony hums in affirmation, pulling his child’s jacket up further against his thin neck as goosebumps rise against the boy’s pale skin. He has contemplated setting Peter down but decided against it the second the spidering’s legs had started to buckle, instead letting Peter curl up against his chest using his spider powers, cuddled between both his and his father’s winter coats. 

 

“M-maybe I could climb a-a tree and see w-where we are?’ 

 

The genius is so put off that he stops completely, sucking in a sharp breath as his eyes snap to his son’s face. Reaching around, Tony wraps himself around Peter, his insides churning at the very thought, the very implication, that he would _ever_ allow his child out of his arms and out of his sight for even a second. 

 

His voice, when he speaks, is final. “No.” 

 

Out of the corner of his eye, when the superhero forces his gaze away from Peter’s precious face to stare into the gloom around them, he can see that his son wants to argue, can see the spark of his normal self light beneath his chilled exterior, but it is gone almost as soon as it appears. Sucked back into the hollow of his throat and dried in the almost painful air. His eyes, having started to slip shut once more, fly open and he blinks rapidly, whites glowing as he stares behind them, a shudder ranking his body in goosebumps, legs knocking against Tony’s hips. 

 

The billionaire is moving before his child even opens his mouth. 

 

* * *

 

 

By the time they make it to the edge of a gushing stream, Tony almost cannot feel his own body. 

 

Peter has gone silent, the only thing keeping his father sane being the weak puffs of air against his neck as his boy breathes. His body is completely limp, fingers piratically frozen against Tony’s jacket as he continues to grip him even in sleep. Reaching down, the genius grabs the limp appendage with his free hand, bringing his kid’s fingers up to his lips and blowing, trying in vain to bring Peter some warmth and comfort. 

 

His son doesn’t even move.

 

Swallowing, Tony traces along the water, shining his gauntlet down and trying to keep from tripping over snow hidden logs and rocks. The moonlight filters down through patches of trees, casting the ice coated and nearly black water in hues of silver. Finally, he stops and lets out a harsh breath, lifting up his hand and clenches his iron covered fingers, the joints creaking from the force. 

 

He knows what he has to do. He looks back only once, studies the darkness of the shadows around them, before stepping into the frozen waters. 

 

The shock doesn’t kick in until the fifth step. His whole body buckles and it takes all of his strength to remind standing, to keep his child as far away from the water as possible. Clenching his jaw, Tony painstakingly continues to walk, the sluggish current pulling at his pant legs, sending flashes of blindingly sharp spikes of pain up his body. The Arc Reactor burns against his chest. 

 

Finally, they both make it across, Tony’s whole frame vibrating and his head swimming with adrenaline. 

 

Peter is still unmoving against his chest, and the billionaire wants to scream, to blast the frozen woods around them until they are smoking and blazing in a blue hellfire, a fury that almost matches the strength of his anger. He can’t do this, he knows, oh he knows it more then he has known anything, but that doesn’t stop the reaction. 

 

It takes Tony much longer then he would have liked to get moving once again. 

 

They must keeping moving.  

 

 _They must._  

 

* * *

 

 

The cabin rises out of the blackness. 

 

The old wood is layered in green moss, the dead blades of frozen grass sticking up out of the snow surrounding the father and son becoming thinner the closer they get. Tony has to blink, reaching up to harshly rub at the numb skin around his eyes as excitement and hope fizzle in his veins for the first time in hours. Quickening his pace, the father stumbles a bit in his haste, sucking in a sharp gasp as his foot catches on the first step. 

 

Tony makes it to the door in record time, practically slamming his gauntlet covered hand against the wood, cracking the frame. He pulls it open, taking only a second to flash his light around the interior before slamming the door shut behind them, the whole house shaking from the force. 

 

Twisting the lock behind them, the billionaire takes the second to just breathe in the musty air, letting his eyes roam around the room and the chill to start to leave his bones. His relief only lasts for a second. He stares at a window, placed around 5 feet off the ground and covered in small flecks of white powder. Body suddenly tensing, the elder Stark nearly curses as he thinks of his son and the warmth the boy desperately needs. 

 

The warmth Tony can now better provide him.

 

“Peter?” He whispers, voice raspy and dry against his throat, reaching up and cupping his son’s face. “P-Pete, you gotta wake up, bud.”

 

His son doesn’t respond, his face slack in his father’s grip and his head lobbing to one side, breath shallow. Tony feels his heart skip, terror forcing a hot rush of blood up his neck, coating his skin in a layer of red. Quickly looking around, the superhero finds a small stove, rust covered and black in color, sitting in the far corner. Without thinking, Tony rushes over, legs trembling. 

 

The blast of the gauntlet lights the entire room in a flash of pale blue. 

 

The second one heats Tony’s face up, crackling the ice around them and causing a small stream of water to drip to the dirty floor. The stove is still unlit, the smell of old and disused charcoal almost choking the father as it sizzles, but he doesn’t give up. 

 

Reaching his shaking hand out, Tony aims and fires once more, this time keeping the power a little lower than normal. 

 

It takes a second, a gut lurching second, but finally the stove lights up, crackling and sending damp sparks flying. Tony doesn’t hesitate, sitting down and carefully unzipping his jacket, settling Peter in his lap and wrapping his arms around him. Keeping his kid’s body off the cold floor, Tony rubs his slowly thawing hands up and down Peter’s arms, pressing soothing and warm kisses against his hairline, and praying with everything he didn’t know he had for his son to wake up.

 

The next few minuets are the longest of Tony’s life. 

 

Suddenly, almost as suddenly as the cabin had appeared, Peter’s eyes blink open. His movements are slow, sluggish in a way Tony has never seen, but he’s awake and he’s _alive_ and that is all the father could ask for. 

 

“Hey.” Tony says, voice soft as his son blinks in confusion, his grip on his dad tightening as his breath quickens. “You’re okay Petey-Pie, it’s alright.” 

 

“W-wh’re?” Peter asks, eyes darting around before falling back onto Tony like a magnet.

 

The genius making soothing sounds in the back of his throat, gently carding his fingers through his child’s damp hair as he answers. “I found us a nice little cabin in the woods buddy, even has a fireplace and everything.”

 

Face creasing in understanding, the spidering studies Tony for a few more seconds, expression unreadable, before his eyes are drawn to the flicking light of the flames and he slumps down again. His thin frame trembles in his father’s grip, each shudder sending a spear of panic through the billionaire’s gut.

 

Slowly, the man helps his kid sit up, leaning him back against his arm and cushioning his head with the bunched up sleeve of his coat. Peter grows more coherent after a few more minuets of direct heat, jaw working furiously as he attempts to speak once more.

 

“How long--“ He finally says, cutting himself off with a cough that shakes his thin frame. “—How long have we b-been here?” 

 

Tony sighs. “Not long. What’s the last thing you remember, kiddo?”

 

Peter squints, brows drawing in as his brain attempts to connect the dots. “We-we were walking through the woods, and I-I saw _him_ and then—“

 

Suddenly, the boy’s body goes tense, his voice drawing in terror and his eyes shifting to look at the window above them. Tony barely holds onto him as he tries to stand, rising up on shaking legs. 

 

“Dad—“ He gasps, fingers tangling in the fabric of the man’s dirty jacket. “Where is he?! I saw him, I-I—“ 

 

Tony carefully lowers his child back down, subconsciously putting himself in between Peter and the fogged window. “Shh, Peter, shh. There isn’t anything out there right now, kiddie. You need to calm down, okay? Breathe with me.” 

 

For a few moments, all the father and son do is breathe. In and out. In and out. Peter calms down gradually, his pulse slowing down under Tony’s hand as he cups the back of his neck, entangling his kid’s soft hair in his fingers.

 

The silence is broken by growling, Peter glancing down at his stomach and blushes, his high cheekbones dusted in red. 

 

“S-sorry.” He whispers, curling his arms around his middle and grimacing. “We need to figure out how—“

 

Tony cuts him off by standing up, every fiber of his being now focused on getting his child fed and as warm as possible. Ignoring the questioning squeak Peter lets out as Tony unzips his own jacket, the genius lays the fabric over the boy’s shaking frame before quickly walking over to the high shelf in the corner. He rummages around for a second, reading the labels by the glow of the Reactor. 

 

“Ah-ha!” He says suddenly, holding up the dented and grime coated can for his son to see. 

 

Frowning, Peter leans forward slightly, lifting both his and Tony’s jackets further up his arms when they begin to slip down. “Peaches?”

 

“Not just any peaches, spider-baby,” The genius turns the can around, brushing off a fine layer of dirt before flipping it back to face his son with a grin. “ _Grandma’s Specialty_ Peaches.”  

 

Peter scoffs, grabbing the offered can when his father comes closer, scooting over and resting his feet in the man’s lap as he sits down. “M-my bad then. I don’t even like-like peaches, Dad.” 

 

“I don’t care if you hate them and they are the worst thing in the world, you’re going to eat them and be happy about it.” 

 

The lid gets snapped off with a few tugs, the metal popping and the sticky sweet juice flying out like acid fire of a fruity volcano. Peter gives the contents a questioning sniff before dipping his fingers in and pulling out a slice, the orange color a bright contrast to the darkness surrounding them. Sticking the fruit in his mouth, the boy chews and swallows without complaint, offering Tony one after a second. The man smiles, taking a slice after studying his boy’s eager and pleading eyes. 

 

They both eat the whole can, not even sparing the juice as it drips down their fingers.

 

Sighing, Peter snuggles up to his father’s side once the man settles back again, nuzzling his head under Tony’s chin and tracing the glowing outline of the Arc Reactor with a trembling finger. The elder Stark wraps both arms around his kid without hesitation, pressing his face into the boy’s hairline. The firelight dances in his eyes as he stares at the wall, listening to the soft huffs of his child’s breathing and trying in vain to keep fear from creeping into his bones.  

 

“What are we gonna do, Dad?” The teen whispers, tone hushed and spreading across the room in a misty haze. 

 

Tony clenches his eyes shut, suddenly glad for the darkness as his eyes prickle with frustrated tears. Shifting against the hard ground, the man cards one hand through Peter’s hair as his voice almost breaks, sucking in a sharp inhale as the boy leans into the touch. 

 

“Honestly baby, I don’t know.” The truth hurts and Tony can feel his son’s answering pain as clearly as his own. “I just don’t know.” 

 

Peter’s sob is silent, his chest jumping as he cries, but his father hears him just the same. Curling his arms under his child’s legs, Tony pulls him fully into his lap, not caring as the boy’s ice cold snot and tears makes a wet patch against his shoulder. 

 

Because Tony’s own despair is just as grand and just as consuming. 

 

* * *

 

 

“Are you sure I can’t help?” 

 

Looking over from where he was going through an old chest, Tony holds a hand out, effectively stopping his boy from continuing to stand. “No, no, no. You need to rest, bud. You’re still shivering okay? Don’t think I can’t see it.” 

 

Crossing his arms over his chest, Peter sits back down with a huff. Picking at the zipper of his jacket, the teenager looks up just as his father pulls out an old blanket. He lets out a squawk as Tony throws the fabric over him, covering his body and making the boy laugh. 

 

“Ew, this smells so bad!” Peter gasps out, pulling the blanket from over his head, hair mussed from the tussle.  “And it’s itchy!”

 

Tony lets out a chuckle of his own, turning around when Peter glares at him, cheeks red and eyes reflecting the pale shine of daylight from the window. He is still laughing as he reaches down to open a cabinet, brushing away a few stray cobwebs. Frowning in concentration, the genius picks up a couple glass bottles, giving them a once over before moving them to the ‘maybe’ section of their small shelter. 

 

“H-hey, look what I found.”    

 

Peter’s suddenly weak voice makes Tony freeze in his tracks, spinning around and letting out a angry gasp. “Peter, what the hell, I told you to stay seated!” 

 

His son shrugs, legs shaking as he leans against the far wall. The billionaire huffs in frustration, walking over and placing a steadying hand against his boy’s waist, looking down at the box Peter was sorting through with a casual glance, much more concerned in getting his still sick son to sit the fuck down. 

 

“Wait, wait Dad, look!” Pushing his hand down into the darkness under him, Peter begins pulling at something, muscles trembling from exertion.

 

“Pete please, you’re sick—“ 

 

Suddenly, with a pop, the object of his child’’s excitement is pulled free, almost forcing the boy off his feet as he staggers back. Tony grabs him, pulling him against his chest as his breath gets pushed out. Looking up, doe eyes shinning in a mixture of hope and pride for the first time in what feels like years, Peter grips his Dad’s arms, fingers digging in and a wide grin stretching his pale face. 

 

In his small hands, covered in a layer of frost and thick dirt, is a hand held radio. 

 

Tony has almost never felt such a sweeping amount of relief fizzle in his veins at a sight. 

 


	4. Radio Silence Is All That We Hear

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *peeks head out* uh hey guys! I'm so so sorry for the delay with this chapter, just real life and other stories and yeah. . .I hope you enjoy anyway and the next update (hopefully) won't take quite as long :)
> 
> HAPPY HOLIDAYS GUYS <3 I LOVE YOU ALL SO MUCH :D
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own Spider-Man or any related materials.

* * *

 

“I can feel it again, Dad.”

 

 

Peter’s voice floats over to the billionaire, tinged with a sort of fear that makes Tony’s hair stand up and his body tense. He pauses from leaning above the radio, turning around and immediately walking quickly over to his child. He tries in vain to ignore the way his foot sends shooting pain up his leg. 

 

 

“C’mon buddy, let’s get you away from the window, okay?” The genius whispers, wrapping his arm around Peter’s shoulders when he gets close enough, the boy shivering under his thin and dirty jacket.

 

 

“B-But I need to keep watch.” The spiderling protests weakly, turning around to stare out the fogged window, his dark gaze haunted. “I have too—“

 

 

Tony cuts him off, shaking his head and gently pushing the boy to his place by the stove. “The only thing you have to do right now, kiddo, is stay warm and not give me anymore heart attacks, alright?”

 

 

Peter, folding his legs under him, grabs the wool blanket, wringing it in his shaking hands as his brows draw in.

 

 

“But I-I can _feel_ him. He’s right there, Dad.” The boy swallows, face pinched. “He-He’s _watching_ us.”

 

 

Sparing a quick glance outside, Tony subconsciously flexes his gauntlet covered hand, the cold metal creaking. Through the frosty glass, the billionaire can see the line of dark trees, beams of black in an otherwise white, powder covered world. They stand tall, allusive and still, a few hundred yards away.

 

 

He pretends not to notice the way a trail of messy footprints drag through the otherwise immaculate snow.

 

 

Blinking, the man clenches his jaw, doing a final once over before he turns back around and going over to the slowly thawing radio. The case is open, its’ parts spilling out like the entrails of an electric carcass, the metal covered in a layer of melting ice. Looking back at his child, Tony heaves a nearly silent sigh, his breath fogging in the fringed air. He shifts a little closer to Peter, the small amount of heat from the still sparking oven soaking into his chilled skin.

 

 

Tugging a particularly stuck wire from the inwards of the radio, Tony licks his dry lips and studies the others still stuck inside. He reaches over and grabs a rusty screwdriver from the pile of tools to his left, using the tool by the light of his glove and the gray outside.

 

 

Finally, he gets all of the old wires and rusted screws from the belly of the device, the scraps forming a small, lumpy pile on the end of the table.

 

 

A movement out of the corner of his eye catches the billionaire’s attention and he whips around to see Peter standing beside him, his kid’s dark eyes reflecting the dim firelight. Setting down his tool quickly, Tony grabs the boy’s thin shoulders.

 

 

“I thought I told you to stay down, buddy?” The genius asks, reaching up and pushing a loose curl behind Peter’s chilled ear. “Peter?”

 

 

The boy shivers, his peaked nose red and sniffling. “The-the fire’s dying.”

 

 

“What?” Tony gasps, looking over at the stove with his heart crawling up his throat.

 

 

Walking over to the simmering coals, Tony grabs the poker and gives the sparks a harsh jab. The air around the cooker becomes saturated with a haze of gray smoke, and the superhero coughs a little, poking again when the coals shift. A small flame, licking at the ash around it, crawls up from between the cracks and Tony feels a small burst of hope rush up his spine. His hope is destroyed a few seconds later, however, when the flame dies with a tiny hiss.

 

 

The fire goes cold a little after that, the cabin going darker without the added light. Tony watches the shadows of the trees dance across the far wall, his heart heavy and his stomach in knots.

 

 

_Shit._

 

 

“I-I’m sorry, Dad.” Peter’s voice startles the father and he straightens back up just as the 15-year-old stops beside him. “I tried to keep it going, b-but I failed.”

 

 

And Peter sounds so miserable, so _guilty,_ that Tony’s own heart aches for him.

 

 

“Hey, no,” Tony whispers, cupping his child’s trembling chin and gently lifting his face up. Peter stares up at him with sorrow filled doe eyes and Tony swallows down the bile that slides up his throat; Peter should never look like that, ever. “No, baby, it’s not your fault. It was bound to happen eventually, those weren’t fresh coals, after all.”

 

 

“But—“

 

 

“No buts, Spider-Baby. It wasn’t your fault, okay?”

 

 

Tony keeps his eyes locked with Peter’s until the boy nods, chewing his bottom lip as he trembles. Tugging him against his side, Tony walks them both over to their small collection of can goods, looking over the labels by the faint light outside.

 

 

“Go sit on the blanket and eat these—“ Grabbing a random can from the middle shelf, Tony squints at the faded label. “. . .fresh green beans and _stay there._ ”

 

 

Grimacing when his dad passes him the rusty can, Peter pries the lid open with shaking fingers and starts to scoop the green veggies out. Pulling the blanket from under his kid’s legs when the boy sits down, Tony gently drapes it over Peter and tucks it against his side. Leaning down, Tony presses a small kiss against the spidering’s forehead before walking back over to the radio.

 

 

The next few hours are the longest of Tony’s life.

 

 

He fluctuates between looking out the window, checking on Peter, and taking apart the radio. As he works, he can feel the chill in the air growing, can feel it in the way his toes go numb and his fingers tingle, his grip on his tools becoming harder and harder to maintain. What really worries him, however, isn’t the cold air against his own skin, it’s the way Peter’s breath hitches as the boy tries his hardest to keep his shivering at bay.

 

 

Tony knows, down to his very core and no matter how much he tries to deny it, that Peter might die if they don’t get the fire started again.

 

 

That’s a risk the genius _cannot_ take.

 

 

He begins to pace after the two hour mark passes, holding the radio out and testing the frequencies with trembling and numb hands. He drags his body past the window again and again, watching as the snow piles high and the wind howls, pounding against the side of the cabin and shaking the nearby trees. Peter watches him from his seat, his curls stuck to his forehead with ice.

 

 

He shakes uncontrollably, limbs twitching and Tony longs to wrap his boy up in his arms and take him far away, to some place warm and safe. But to do that Tony would have to stop moving, and stop trying to get help.

 

 

Peter _will_ die if he does that, the billionaire knows that for sure.

 

 

So he paces, the radio crackling in his hands, his heart sitting on the floor and more footprints getting added to the fresh snow outside.

 

 

Then his son’s trembling voice stops him in his tracks.

 

 

“Don’t do it, Dad.” Peter swallows, throat clicking. “Please.”

 

 

Tony doesn’t even have to ask what he means. Squeezing his eyes shut, the billionaire can’t force himself to turn around and face the boy, to have to look into Peter’s haunted gaze and pretend like he knows how to fix this.

 

 

Like Tony knows how to save them.

 

 

“Okay.” He says instead, the word sticking to the roof of his mouth. “Alright, buddy, okay.”

 

 

Tony can hear Peter shift, can feel the heat of his stare thawing the chill that ranks across Tony’s back and down his spine. “You p-promise?”

 

 

Tony clenches his fists, fingers tingling. “I promise.”

 

 

That seems to convince the spiderling and he sighs, the sound of his chewing filling up the silence as he finishes the rest of his beans. Tony, swallowing against the urge to puke, makes it back over to the radio and starts to peer into the inside of it once more.

 

 

The next time he looks over Peter, the boy is fast asleep, his chest wheezing and his cheek pressed against his hands.

 

 

Walking over to his son, Tony gently maneuvers Peter into a more comfortable position, running a hand through his kid’s curls and swallowing when they crack with icy residue. Zipping up his jacket over the spidering’s shaking frame, Tony studies Peter’s face for a few more precious seconds before standing up again.

 

 

He can’t hesitate now. Not when Peter’s life is at stake.

 

 

Flexing his gauntlet covered hand, the blue repulser gleaming, Tony only looks back at Peter once before he yanks open the door and steps out into the now black world beyond.

 

* * *

 

Even before Peter opens his eyes, he knows that Tony is gone. 

 

 

Sitting up, his blanket falling from around his shoulders, Peter blinks against the silvery light of the moon bouncing off the walls. Watching as his breath fogs out in front of him, the spiderling listens to the creaking of the cabin around him, trying in vain to swallow against the panic and worry threatening to rip his throat apart.

 

 

Of course his dad had left. They need firewood—heat— and Peter can _feel_ how weak he is, how his heart almost skips in his chest and his breath doesn’t seem to want to return.

 

 

The boy knows Tony would not allow that. Not in a million years.

 

 

Cursing under his breath as he begins to stand, Peter grabs onto the side of the stove for leverage, flinching a bit at the pure _cold_ that soaks through his skin at contact. Gathering his thin jacket in his hands, he slowly makes his way over to the window, peering out at the pale snow that glows in the moonlight. A pair of new tracks, Tony’s tracks, starting at the porch and going off to the left, is the only disturbance Peter can see.

 

 

At first.

 

 

The second pair of tracks are lighter than his father’s, more spaced out and sporadic. They wrap around the entire house, looping by the window not just once or twice, but more than a dozen times. Peter shivers as he backs away.

 

 

Making his way carefully past the rows of cans on the wall, Peter stops by the radio his dad has set down. He grabs the device and turns it over in his hands, feeling the metal begin to thaw a little at his touch. Pulling the antenna on the top, Peter begins to pace like Tony had done, stopping in a few places when the radio gave a particularly loud burst of static.

 

 

“. . . _ocky Mountain Rescue Gr—_. . .”

 

 

_Wait. There._

 

 

Heart stopping in his chest, Peter comes to a sudden halt as a woman’s voice echos throughout the cabin, interrupted by static and crinkling like newspapers. Shifting the radio in his now sweaty palms, the 15-year-old brings the device closer to his lips, breath fogging the metal.

 

 

“H-Hello? Please, we-we need help!” Voice cracking, the young Stark feels a chill go up his spine, his ears beginning to ring. “ _We need help!_ This is Peter S-Stark, please, _please_ —“

 

 

More static, and then: _“. . .Stark? We. . .hear you, Pet—. . .hold on. . .tracking. . .old sig—“_

 

 

Peter blinks against the tears that fill his eyes, body feeling warm for the first time in hours. “Yes, yes! Please h-hurry, ma’am, we are—“

 

 

A boom cuts the boy off and he jumps back, a cry of terror slipping past his lips as the door to the cabin begins to crash in, the wood splintering. His spider-sense begins to go wild all at once, the back of his neck tingling as his pulse quickens. The radio, still crackling, falls to the floor as he stumbles to the far wall. The door cracks one more time, half of it getting pushed down and a dull growl ripples through the chilled air.

 

 

Then silence.

 

 

Peter swallows, trembling in pure fear. He can’t seem to force himself to move, to even blink as the same dark figure that has been following the two Starks fills up the available doorway, a mass of blackness that seems to suck all light from the room.

 

 

Not for the first time since he has woken up, Peter wishes his dad was there. Needs him to be there. Because there is no way in hell Peter can deal with this on his own.

 

 

The figure moves slowly at first, his feet creaking the wood where he steps. Peter sinks back, his tears finally spilling over and dripping down to the dusty floor below. His sob jolts his chest. The figure reaches up, a small knife glistening in the silver light and begins to pull at the blackness on his head, stretching it out like some sort of weird second skin. Peter has just realized that it was a mask when it pops off, snowflakes dusting the stalker’s shoulders like chilling dan-drift.

 

 

That’s when the cry that Peter tried to keep in escapes, jumping up from his chest. Because standing in front of him, covered in frozen dirt and snow, is a man the spiderling never thought his father would have to deal with ever again.

 

 

“Hello, baby Stark.” Justin Hammer grins, teeth glowing as he prowls closer. “Mind if I chill here for a little while?”


	5. How Near And How Dear Is The End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> heCK im so sorry for the long wait guys oof real life caught up with me and I got so busy and yeah. BUT ITS HERE NOW :D I hope you enjoy and thank you for sticking with this story (despite the long wait)! I hope this lives up to the expectations and I love you guys <3
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own Spider-Man or any related materials.
> 
> **TRIGGER WARNING FOR BLOOD, VIOLENCE AND SEMI-GRAPHIC DESCRIPTIONS OF INJURIES**

* * *

 

The blast from Tony’s gauntlet illuminates the snow around him in a pale blue.

 

 

He wheezes a little as he reaches down, picking up the small, still smoking bits of tree that has rained down from above him. He clutches the wood to his chest, stumbling as he stands. His breath fogs in the chilled air. The genius shivers, before squaring his shoulders and making his way to the next tree a few steps away, his feet sinking into the fresh snow.

 

 

He doesn’t know how long he’s been out here.

 

 

Tony suspects that it hasn’t been more than an hour at most, but he can’t be sure. It’s still night, the stars barely visible above the towering trees, but with no moon, Tony can’t even tell north from south. The only reason he knows, vaguely, the way back to the cabin is the looping holes made by his shoes as he had stumbled along the outer most edge of the woods.

 

 

The path glows in the silver of the moon, patches of light and dark illuminating the frosted floor like an enchanted checkered board. Tony’s face feels frozen, his nose and ears stinging as he blinks away fresh snowflakes from his lashes. He can’t stop now, not when he only has to gather one more arm full of wood.

 

 

Then he can get back to the cabin. Back to the relative safety and the warmth offered in the creaking, molding walls.

 

 

Back to Peter.

 

 

The thought of his son, his curls damp with ice, the soft strands crackling as Tony had wrapped his arms around him; the way the boy was shivering, trembling, his baby face red and his doe eyes wide with tears, makes the billionaire’s chest ache with a fierce swirl of protectiveness and fear. Letting out a deep sigh, the cold air stinging his already beaten down lungs, Tony steadies himself and raises his trembling arm.

 

 

His palm glows, the heat causing the air around him to steam, and the hero squints against the newly added light. He is just about to blast the beam, tightening his arm in preparation for the force, when a sudden scream echos throughout the trees.

 

 

Tony’s head snaps toward the sound, his entire body jumping as he takes a staggered step back. The air gets forced from his lungs in a whoosh of mist and it takes him a second to regain his balance. Placing his gauntlet free hand against the tree next to him, the genius scans the area around him, straining to see anything beyond the trees and never ending snow.

 

 

A sudden, sickening thought, one that nearly causes Tony to loose what little food he had managed to eat, worms its way into his brain and the billionaire is suddenly moving backwards as fast as he possibly can, pushing off the tree with enough force to send him stumbling forward.

 

 

_Peter._

 

 

That scream. 

 

 

There’s no other explanation for the sudden sound of terror that had just split the air. Tony lets out a weak mix between a sob and a grunt, wincing as his right foot suddenly lands in an area of deeper snow, falling to his knees and catching himself before he could completely collapse. Taking a deep breath, the man shakes off the pain, pushing himself back up and starting again, bending branches and weaving around the dark trunks scattered around him.

 

 

The gray-tinged holes of his past footprints stain the snow and Tony fixes his gaze on the dots of muted color, trying as hard as possible to meet the backwards strides of his original track.

 

 

Another scream reaches his ears, this one quieter and with less energy, but closer. It seems to be only coming from a few yards away. There’s no mistaking the voice behind it though, and Tony swallows down a shout of his own as his earlier suspicions are quickly confirmed.

 

 

Finally, the high wall of the cabin comes into view and Tony stumbles toward the bottom step.

 

 

His foot makes contact with the frozen wood and the man is lurching himself upwards as fast as he can, dragging his shivering body closer to the now audible sounds of his child’s sobbing. The snow crunches at each of his trembling steps.

 

 

His heart skips a beat when the billionaire finally sees the state of the cabin door, the wood splintered and bashed in. He swallows.

 

 

“Peter.” Tony gasps out as he makes it over the last step, grabbing onto the door frame and pushing himself up. He holds out his gauntlet covered hand, the trembling light casting warping shadows against the visible walls. “It’s okay, buddy. It’s ok—“

 

 

Then Justin Hammer is there, reaching out and ripping Tony off the wall before the genius could even blink.

 

 

The superhero stumbles forward, nearly knocking into the other man as his legs almost give out from under him. Another push and Tony is on his hands and knees, his skin on his free palm rubbed raw from the sudden impact on the hard floor. 

 

 

The resulting pain is nearly as sharp as Tony’s sudden, overwhelming panic.

 

 

Shaking his head to clear the fog, Tony lets out a grunt of confusion as Hammer places a boot clad foot on top of his back, pressing down with enough force to knock the remaining air from Tony’s lungs.

 

 

Out of the corner of his eye, the billionaire can make out Peter’s terrified and tear streaked face peering at him, his son’s body still racked with violent tremors and sobs. Thankfully, he appears as unharmed as possible given the situation and Tony feels a small inch of tension leave his shoulders.

 

 

Because as long as his son isn’t hurt, Tony welcomes any torture thrown his own way. 

 

 

“Dad—“ Peter whispers, the word raw and jagged, cutting up Tony’s insides like a hot knife through butter. “P-Please—“

 

 

The boy begins to reach out towards Tony, his numb fingers curling, but one look from Hammer has the young Stark snapping his jaw shut with an audible click. Tony growls in rage, twisting his still glowing hand up at Justin, watching as the man’s blue eyes glint.

 

 

“Listen here, you little motherfucker.” Tony hisses. “I don’t know how the hell you got here or what you want, but if you even _lay a single finger_ on him, I swear—“

 

 

Hammer just laughs, twisting his foot so that his sole digs into the skin on Tony’s back. “You don’t seem to be in the position to be making threats, Stark.”

 

 

Tony wheezes. “The hell does that mean, you bastard?”

 

 

“It means—” Justin suddenly grins. “—that _I’m_ the one with the knife.”

 

 

Tony’s eyes widen and he barely has more than a second to gasp, breath misting, before said knife is stabbed into his gauntlet covered hand, catching in the frozen gears. His numb skin pulls at the contact, the blade twisting into his palm as the Iron Man glove gets ripped apart, the metal weakened significantly from the snow and frozen water caught in the small cracks and crevices.

 

 

A sharp cry is ripped from the genius’s throat as the gauntlet finally gives way under Hammer’s rough jabs, the constant, comforting blue light dying out as the metal falls to the floor next to Tony’s gasping chest.

 

 

“There we go.” Justin pants, falling to his knees and reaches up to wipe away a sheen of cool sweat from his brow. His face is cast in gray darkness, the whites of his eyes glowing as he glances down at the broken glove. “Much-Much better.”

 

 

Tony lets out a mix of a grunt and a sob, curling his now bleeding and bare hand against his chest, covering the dim light of the arc reactor. Gritting his teeth, the billionaire begins to slowly scoot away from the other still smirking man.

 

 

“W-What—“ Tony says, cursing himself when his voice cracks. “—What the fuck do you _want?_ How-How did you even get out?”

 

 

Justin shrugs. “Good behavior, Stark. You should try it sometime.”

 

 

Tony spits at him, lips curling.

 

 

Hammer just laughs a bit, rising to his feet with a small grunt and twirling the red-stained knife in his hand. Tony finally makes it over to Peter with a few more weak pushes, his back pressing against his son’s ice cold feet. The genius doesn’t waste any time, reaching behind him and pulling the crying boy against his chest.

 

 

“Shh.” Tony whispers, curling his not bleeding hand against Peter’s soft hair. The spidering just gasps out more sobs, his entire frame trembling as his father holds him even closer. “It’s okay, Petey-Pie, it’s alright. Shh.”

 

 

“D-Dad.” Peter whines, swallowing, fingers digging into Tony’s arms. “I’m so sorry, I’m sorry—“

 

 

Tony shakes his head, gently tilting the boy’s chin up and cupping his soft, red-tinged cheek. “No, no, no. If anything, _I’m_ sorry for leaving you here. It was s-so stupid of me, buddy.”

 

 

“You had too though.” Peter argues, a stray curl slipping onto his forehead. Tony smoothes it back with a soft brush of his hand, cooing gently. “The f-fire was dying. We needed wood and-and—“

 

 

“Does’t matter!” Tony grits his teeth, the familiar frustration at his own mistakes cracking through his bones. “The wood doesn’t matter. I should have never left you—“

 

 

“Awe, how touching.” Hammer’s voice, coated in false honey, cuts Tony off and the billionaire snaps his eyes toward the blonde with a low snarl. “It seems like Stark actually cares about someone other than himself. Never thought I would see the day, to be honest.”

 

 

“You-You shut the fuck up.” Tony hisses, curling his body around Peter and begins to hold up his right hand, stopping when more blood just spills from between his fingers. “Shut up.”

 

 

The pain is sharp and sudden, traveling up toward his elbow, but the superhero shakes it off.

 

 

“Well, you wanna know why I’m here right?” Justin asks, taking a few steps toward the window, his smirk widening when Tony’s weary eyes follow him. “Can’t tell you if you insist that I shut my mouth, now can I?”

 

 

Tony doesn’t answer, just grips Peter tighter when the boy flinches.

 

 

“When I was arrested,” Hammer says as Tony just continues to glare at him. “I was put in a cell. _Alone._ Now, normally they would give you like, a bunk buddy or something, but not for me. I was alone for months, Stark. Just me and 3 white walls.”

 

 

“What, Hammer?” Tony speaks up, voice dry with ironic humor. “Couldn’t handle some alone time, huh? Got bored too easily? Started eating the paint off the walls?”

 

 

Now it’s Justin’s turn to glare at Tony, his icy eyes sharp in the semi-darkness. Hands shaking, the crazed man raises the knife and points it at both Starks still on the ground, lips curling upwards when the genius immediately pulls Peter more firmly against his side.

 

 

Justin relaxes after a few tense seconds and sniffs, reaching up to scratch at his nose. The silver knife scrapes across his cheek but unfortunately not doing any damage to the bastard’s face.

 

 

“Oh, you would just love that wouldn’t you? That I tell you I went crazy, consumed by my deep regret and change of heart?” Hammer pretends to swallow mournfully, pressing his free hand against his chest. “That I was kept up night after night, the intensity of my guilt making sleep nearly impossible? That all I could think about—All that crossed my mind in that empty cell—was _you_?”

 

 

Tony glares even harder at the other man, Hammer’s snort of elation misting in the freezing air.

 

 

“But that—“ Hammer suddenly springs forward, reaching the father and son and basically dragging Tony across the hard floor. The billionaire lets out a yelp of protest, Peter’s finger’s clawing at his arms as Justin manhandle’s the cursing genius. “—that would be a lie, Mr. Stark, and we all know that _politicians are the best liars out there.”_

 

 

Cursing his currently weakened state, Tony can only grunt as Justin’s boot makes contact with his stomach, the impact seeming to flip his insides. Curling up, the superhero blinks away salty tears, coughing, feeling his son’s terrified gaze burning holes into his back.

 

 

“I did think about you, Stark. The whole time. But not the though of remorse or-or guilt or whatever sort of sick, mushy, _weak_ idea that has been planted in your brain. Oh no, sir, I only had one though and it was of _revenge_.”

 

 

Another kick, to the back this time, and Tony feels something crack under the pressure, his whole chest lighting up in a hot fire. He gags, tasting a hint of copper that causes his viens to freeze.

 

 

“No!” Peter weakly yells from the corner. “No, please, p-please stop!”

 

 

“Shut up!” Hammer snarls, turning toward the sobbing boy with the bloody knife raised. “Shut the fuck up, you little brat!”

 

 

The villain begins to take a step in Peter’s direction and Tony _cannot_ have that. Ignoring how his injured hand protests, the billionaire grabs onto Justin’s leg and pulls, catching the other man off-guard. With a yelp, Justin stumbles back, the sole of his shoe catching on Tony’s fingers and crushing the digits with an audible snap.

 

 

The genius swallows down his own cry, scooting back with a grunt as Hammer manages to catch himself, thankfully turning away from Peter to glare down at Tony once again, his eyes narrowed. The blonde’s features are blurred, tears of pain, fear and frustration starting to stream down Tony’s face no matter how hard he attempts to stop them.

 

 

Plopping down beside the superhero, Justin ignores the watery groan of agony that escapes Tony as the man tries to move away. Tutting under his breath, the shrewd man throws one leg over the elder Stark, sitting up so that he is basically straddling the billioniare.

 

 

Tony isn’t sure what’s worse. The pure agony spreading throughout his whole body or the humiliation settling deep into his bones.

 

 

He doesn’t have time to decide, however. Hammer’s hands, ice cold and uncomfortably soft, are suddenly ripping apart the thin material of Tony’s jacket. Hammer digs the knife, not caring as it slices the skin from Tony’s torso, staining the gray fabric a deadly silver.

 

 

Tony shivers as his shirt is ripped apart as well, Peter’s cries of terror increasing at the sight of his father’s busted and bruised torso. Lifting up his head a little, Tony attempts to reach out in the spidering’s direction, trying in vain to offer the boy at least a small dose of comfort, but Justin blocks his view.

 

 

Instead of the soft brown of his child’s eyes, the man is greeted with a twisted smile from Hammer and Tony has to choke down bile for the thousands time that night.

 

 

“Peter.” He rasps instead, his son’s name wheezed out as the once politician settles more firmly on top of the billionaire stomach. Hammer’s knees dig into Tony’s sides with enough force to leave marks and Tony clenches his teeth at the pain. “I-It’s okay, baby. It’s okay.”

 

 

“It’s not! It’s n-not okay!” Peter shouts and Tony can’t help but internally agree. “Please stop, sir. Please, he’s in pain.”

 

 

Justin pays no mind to the pleads coming from the young Stark, instead keeping his gaze pinned to the now fully visible glow of the arc reactor. Lifting up a hand, his fogged breath cutting through the still air, the blue eyed man traces an eerily gentle finger against the outside of the circle. Tony nearly gags at the feeling.

 

 

“This is what I have dreamed about—“ Hammer whispers, breathless, taking a quick glance up at Tony’s pale face, his eyes shining in delight and almost childlike wonder. “—for years. And now, it’s finally all mine.”

 

 

Huffing out a pleased laugh, the other man studies the glowing power source like one would eye a complex puzzle or a challenging move in chess. One of careful concentration and consideration, one that radiates careful planning and practice. Half of his face is lit up, all jagged lines and clean cut angles, his white teeth glistening in the pale light when he grins.

 

 

“While I was in that cell, I had a thought.” The man laughs once, a short, delighted sound that sends goosebumps rising up Tony’s arms. “If I can’t have your skeletons, Mr. Stark? Well, I guess I’ll just have to take the _whole entire heart_ instead.”

 

 

A beat of silence, only broken by the wind howling outside, Peter’s gasping sobs and Hammer’s shuttering breathing. The man shifts a little, the pain against Tony’s sides and broken ribs causing his vision to become filled with static.

 

 

Then Justin’s ice cold hands are digging into the skin around the Arc Reactor and Tony can’t keep his scream silent this time.

 

 

It bubbles out of his mouth like hot lava from a raging volcano, tumbling and tripping over itself in its desperation to escape. Tony buckles, attempting to throw Hammer off of him, but a sudden, hard, nauseating jab against his chest has him slumping back with another groan of agony.

 

 

The ground is cold against his back and the billionaire welcomes the feeling with open arms. Anything to stop the itching, aching, burning currently spreading like wild fire in his bones.

 

 

“A-Almost got it.” The blonde pants above him, his long fingers coming away smeared with blood as he swipes away a stubborn piece of hair from his face. His hand leaves behind a streak, like war-paint, across his forehead. The image reminds Tony vaguely of The Lion King. “Almost t-there—“

 

 

Tony faintly hears a small popping sound as one of the tubes in his chest starts to snap, his breathing slowly becoming even more shallow as his life force gets ripped away from his chest, agonizing inch after inch. His struggles weaken, his arms feeling too heavy to lift as his vision starts to fade.

 

 

A sudden shriek is all that Justin has as a warning.

 

 

In the blind of an eye, Peter appears, jumping onto the man’s back and pulling him away from Tony with another yell. His eyes, when Tony catches sight of his son’s blurred face as both him and Hammer fall backwards, are wide in a mix of fury and fear.

 

 

The image is something the billionaire knows will haunt his dreams for years to come.

 

 

After a few failed attempts, Tony finally manages to sit up at least a little, nearly blacking out at the pain. Shaking his head, the man forces himself to stay conscious, blinking away the burliness filling his vision.

 

 

The scene he finds himself witnessing rocks him to his very core.

 

 

Peter, his thin body still visibly trembling, has Justin forced up agains the ground. His son’s hands are wrapped around the man’s throat, luckily not squeezing but with enough pressure to keep the bastard at bay. Peter has his face as close to the blonde’s as he can, spitting furious, misting words into his ear as Hammer struggles under him.

 

 

“I will—I will kill you.” Peter says, his voice breaking. Tony knows that his boy wouldn’t really, would never kill anyone, but Hammer doesn’t know this and the billionaire can clearly tell that the once politician has no trouble believing the lies spilling from Peter’s chapped lips. “S-Stop moving, please stop moving. I don’t want to have to force you, but-but I will.”

 

 

This, however, Tony knows is not a lie.

 

 

Peter spares one glance over at Tony, the pure terror the man can see in the depths breaking what little is left of his heart. What Peter sees reflected back at him, however, seems to seal his resolve because he clenches his jaw, turning back to face Justin when the man struggles again with enough speed his neck cracks. Moving one hand from around the bastard’s neck, Peter rests it agains the soft skin right under Justin’s knee, where the socket meets the ball.

 

 

The spidering takes a deep, gasping breath, clenches his eyes shut, and pushes down against Hammer’s right leg with all of his super-human strength.

 

 

Even in a weaken state, nearly immobile with hypothermia and the beginning of frost bite, the force of Peter’s push is enough to snap the man’s leg with a loud crack, nearly drowned out by Justin’s own yell of agony.

 

 

“I told you.” Peter whispers once the bastard has stopped screaming, more to himself than to the man below him. “ _I told you._ ”

 

 

Then Tony is forced onto his back once more, his arms giving out from under him as his whole body drums with pain. He slowly blinks up at the ceiling of the cabin, the wood above him almost seeming to float around in the fridged air. Suddenly, he hears shuffling, muffles curing and soft sobs, then Peter’s bloodied, bruised face is the only thing Tony can see.

 

 

The sight of his child would be enough to knock him out flat if he wasn’t already down.

 

 

Peter’s doe eyes are rounder than normal, wide in worry and Tony aches to smooth down the crease between his eyebrows. Tony tried to lift up his good hand, to gently cup his son’s soft cheek, but his energy give out half-way and Peter is forced to catch his father’s palm. The spidering raises it up to his face, pressing the genius’s bloody knuckles against his skin, sobbing as Tony starts to slowly wipe away his tears.

 

 

“I-I—“

 

 

Peter starts to speak, to apologize but Tony doesn’t let him. Instead, he presses his thumb clumsily against his kid’s mouth before the boy could continue, nearly crying himself when the young Stark leans into the touch with a nearly silent whimper.

 

 

“It’s o-o-okay.” Tony whispers, a violent tremor shaking his entire frame and causing a flame of agony to lick against his chest. “Shh, shh, bubba.”

 

 

“Can I try to-to fix it? Please?”

 

 

Glancing down at the still half-way ripped out arc reactor, the billionaire nods his consent, shifting Peter around to his left side and smoothing down a crackling curl from his son’s face. Peter blinks for a few more seconds, before taking a deep breath and focusing his attention of the flickering light below him. He chews his bottom lip as he works, his teeth tearing at the cracked skin and drawing a small dot of blood.

 

 

Tony reaches up to wipe it away without hesitation.

 

 

Keeping one eye on the thankfully silent Hammer in the corner, Tony breathes out a small sigh as Peter finally manages to fit the correct wire into the hole, casing the arc reactor enough that it’s no longer in a threat of giving out completely. Flinching a bit when the mental is slotted back in place, Tony allows Peter to gently push him into a sitting position, nearly groaning as his ribs protest.

 

 

The feeling of his son, chilled to the bone and shaking but _alive,_ against his side is enough motivation for Tony to ignore the pain. At least for now.

 

 

“I got the radio to work.” Peter suddenly whispers and Tony snaps his eyes towards the boy’s face, breath stalling.

 

 

“ _What?_ ”

 

 

Peter nods, nuzzling even closer against Tony’s chest, careful of his father’s injuries. “Y-yeah. When you were gone, I-I worked on it for a while, finally got a-a good enough signal to contact someone, at least a little. I uh, I got interrupted by-by—“

 

 

Peter’s voice cracks and Tony gently shushes him, wiping away his tears as the boy blinks.

 

 

“Peter.” Waiting until the spidering places up at him, his eyes reflecting the blue glow below his chin, Tony speaks. His voice is choked with emotion. “I am so-so fucking proud of you, kiddie.”

 

 

The boy just sobs, curling up tighter in his arms and Tony holds him as close as possible, both of them shivering in a mix of relief and slowing slipping away adrenaline. Quickly looking over at Justin, Tony is pleased to see that the fucker had finally passed out from the pain, his leg bent at an unnatural angle and slowly soaking the wood under him in a small pool of crimson. The billionaire tries to not get too happy about that.

 

 

“We-We should go on a vacation.”

 

 

Tony cocks an eyebrow as best he can, looking down at his son in amusement even as he nods. “Someplace warm. Like the beach.”

 

 

“Or the sun.” Peter laughs weakly.

 

 

Tony lets out a small snort of his own, brushing his fingers through Peter’s hair. They are quiet for a few more minutes, broken only by Peter’s voice, nearly a whisper.

 

 

“I love you, Dad.”

 

 

Tony presses a gentle kiss against his son’s temple. “I love you too, buddy. So much.”

 

* * *

 

It’s a few hours later that a group of rescuers finally bang down the cracked remainder of the door.

 

 

They all fill the room, the bright orange and yellow of their uniforms strikingly bright in the dark interior. Behind them, a group of police officers, their badges reflecting the still visible reactor, make their way over to a now semi-conscious Justin Hammer. The man’s muffled and slurred protests, as well as his sharp cry of pain, is cut off as the police carries him out of the cabin.

 

 

“Don’t worry, sir.” One of the offices says as she passes, reaching down to gently shake Tony’s trembling hand. Her grip is warm. “He’s gonna be locked up for a long, long time.”

 

 

The sigh Tony lets out is one of the deepest in his whole entire life.

 

 

Allowing the paramedics to gently load both him and Peter onto a stretcher, the billionaire ignores the pain as they are carried out, the shock of cold sending shivers up his spine. Peter shakes as well, nuzzling his chilled nose against his father’s neck and Tony reaches his hand up, smoothing back the boy’s soft locks. The man’s I.V. line jingles with each snow muffled step the rescue team takes.

 

 

Finally, they make it past the line of trees and into a small field. The helicopter waiting for them, its blades still spinning lazily and kicking up flakes of snow, barely fits in the small space and Tony barely has time to wonder how they even landed before the cot is being pushes into the back.

 

 

The warmth the genius feels is enough to bring tears to his eyes.

 

 

Then they are floating upwards, the whirling of the blades sending the trees into a frenzy and blowing enough snow around to form a small cloud. Peter falls limpalmost as soon as they start moving, lulled by the gentle rocking of the bed and the sound of his father’s heartbeat under his ear. The billionaire just holds him closer, pressing his cheek against Peter’s head and breathing in deeply.

 

 

Peter sleeps.

 

 

Tony, however, forces himself to stay awake for just a few more seconds, blinking away the blackness from his gaze just long enough to glance out the fogged window to his right.

 

 

He watches as they break from the pressing darkness of the tree-line, a deep exhale after a long dive. He sees the clouds in the distance finally part, like a curtain into a mass of baby blue. The sun gently spills its bright rays across the white covered land below them.

 

 

Then the snow turns into a sea of deep gold and finally does Tony allow himself to rest.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading and don’t forget to review!;)


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